


Scent

by glitterburn (orphan_account)



Category: Tale of Genji - Murasaki Shikibu
Genre: F/M, Genderbending, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-04
Updated: 2011-02-04
Packaged: 2017-10-15 09:29:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/159417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/glitterburn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prince Hyobu, imagining Genji as a woman, is determined to find the source of her scent.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scent

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Porn Battle XI for the prompt 'Prince Hyobu/Genji, look'. Unfortunately I didn't get the fic finished before the Porn Battle closed. Based on Chapter 7 ' _Momiji no Ga_ /Beneath the Autumn Leaves', in which Prince Hyobu imagines Genji as a woman and Genji in turn imagines Hyobu as a woman.

It is never enough merely to look at Genji.

Prince Hyobu has heard this said many times, but only does he believe it true when he calls at his sister’s Sanjo residence to find Genji sitting amongst a cluster of Fujitsubo’s gentlewomen.

A first glance through the screens fools him, creating a pretty illusion: not three women conversing, but four, with the fourth lady outshining her companions in beauty and grace and taste. Prince Hyobu’s first, unguarded thought is _a shame her hair is covered_ , and then news of his arrival is brought to the group and Nakatsukasa rises up, looking towards the screens.

The beauty follows her gaze, and the Prince realises his mistake. He moves a little and peeps through a gap in the hinged screen. Now he recognises Genji, but instead of rueful embarrassment at his mistake, Prince Hyobu is titillated by it. How amusing it would be if Genji were a woman! How charming to imagine him with floor-length hair, shining locks spread out upon an elegant train of patterned silk!

Nakatsukasa steps around the screens, bows, and tells him that Lord Genji is here calling on the Princess to enquire after Her Highness’s health.

“I will receive him,” the Prince says. “Send him in to me directly.”

Prince Hyobu settles himself in a private room decorated to his sister’s taste. It is a tad plain in his opinion, but he appreciates the simplicity when Genji enters. Genji’s beauty set against such a minimal environment only heightens the youth’s looks. The Prince, who is well aware of his own handsome appearance, is roused to admiration rather than jealousy. How delightful it is to gaze upon such a splendid young man!

Genji sits where he is bidden, and the Prince embarks upon conversation. A gentlewoman serves refreshments and then withdraws, leaving them alone. Genji’s scent wraps around them, a subtle, lingering sweetness that pleases the nose and intoxicates almost as much as the wine. Beneath the high notes of the fragrance, Prince Hyobu discerns an underlying scent, a base note more grounded and earthy. Intrigued by this deeper, darker scent, he leans closer.

Perhaps it’s the stimulating qualities of the scent, but Genji seems more charming than usual. Perhaps, thinks the Prince, it’s because he imagined Genji as a woman. The Prince is amused by the thought. He loves women, the feel of soft, pliant bodies beneath his hands, the delicacy of their skin, the taste and scent of hidden places. He loves the way they flutter against him when he possesses them, delights in the stifled cries they make at the peak of pleasure, adores the way their hair, so glossy and long and smooth, becomes tangled and streaked with sweat.

Reminiscence sparks desire, and Prince Hyobu pours more wine to quench this new thirst.

He imagines setting down his wine cup and rising from his place, approaching Genji—Genji as a woman, peerless and proud. This female Genji would welcome him with the same grace as the male Genji. The Prince sips his wine and allows his imagination to take wing.

He imagines unfastening his court robes and laying them out on the floor, a bed of black brocade. He lays Genji down upon the rich fabric and plucks at the ties of Genji’s aster combination robes. Pale violet gives way to green gives way to cream to white. Silk loosens, unfurls, crumples beneath hands, bodies. The Prince goes to untie the hakama, but Genji struggles and resists, full of charming feminine modesty.

He imagines overcoming Genji’s reticence, not by words but by actions. He allows Genji to remain half-clothed, her scent fixed through every layer of her clothing, from under-shift to Chinese jacket to train. The scent falls from her hair and breathes out of her skin. The Prince imagines seeking the heart of the scent—not the recognisable sweetness but the earthier mystery.

He imagines smoothing the doubled hakama up Genji’s legs, the wide trousers no obstacle to revealing flesh. When he reaches Genji’s knees, he forces them wide. The silk hakama crease, tumble, giving glimpses of pale thigh and dark hair. The earthy scent grows stronger. It’s wet and slick. Prince Hyobu can almost taste it, but first he needs to touch.

He imagines kneeling between Genji’s thighs and pushing the hakama higher, using both hands to part the silk of one leg of the garment. Genji trembles on the black brocade and lies still, face turned away shyly, breath gasping. Her excitement is tangible. The Prince slides his fingertips higher, over skin, into glossy, springy curls. Genji is hot, wet. She moans and arches onto the Prince’s fingers, teasing him, promising him. The Prince strokes along her slit, sometimes gentle, other times increasing the pressure, gauging Genji’s needs by her responses.

He imagines lifting his wet fingers to his mouth, slipping them one by one between his lips, sucking the fragrant juice from his skin. This is the source of Genji’s scent; this is what makes her—him—irresistible. A scent based on desire and passion and focused lust. Prince Hyobu is overwhelmed by the knowledge. He needs to taste desire directly from its source.

He imagines burying his head between Genji’s thighs, tearing at the silk hakama until he’s comfortable, until he can trace his tongue over blossomed red flesh. He imagines whispering poetry against Genji’s sex—first the slippery oyster-mouth of a woman, and then the image blurs to a delicious hard cock. The Prince adjusts his fantasy, redirecting his tongue from foreskin to wet folds of labia, his poetry shifting from praise of upright pine trees to admiration of the gushing streams of the Nachi waterfall.

Beneath flicks of his tongue, Prince Hyobu imagines Genji’s clit swelling and blooming, her juices slicked beneath her, coating even her thighs as she writhes and begs for more. Her scent intensifies as her body tenses. The Prince imagines eating at her, his mouth tight against her cunt, his lips hard to her nether lips, his tongue working tirelessly to bring Genji to her peak. He imagines her cries of delight as she shudders to completion. He imagines her trembling with the aftershocks of the pleasure he gave her. He imagines her languorous sighs as she lies still on his black brocade and gives him a soft, secretive smile.

Pleased with the fruits of his imagination, the Prince lifts his wine cup and murmurs,

“ _Rather than the colour  
The scent is far more moving, I feel..._”

Ignorant of these fantasies, Genji smiles. He admires the romantic elegance of His Highness and imagines what pleasures may come if only Prince Hyobu were a woman.


End file.
